


and if i ever see you again, my love

by sleepysundays



Series: on and off and (on again) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Returns, But its brief i promise, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Gay Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepysundays/pseuds/sleepysundays
Summary: And for just a fine moment, a nanosecond of time, something flashes in the grey-blue of Bucky's eyes, something like recognition. Something like coming home, like hazy Brooklyn summers, the soulful, sweet voice of Billie Holiday on the radio, a look that says, I'm here, I'm home, with you.And then the shoulder of the hellicarrier is breaking and they're falling and everything's black as he sinks.





	and if i ever see you again, my love

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick warning for a very brief moment in the story where Steve has suicidal thoughts, tendencies, ideation. It's brief but needs to be mentioned nonetheless. Also, a warning that Steve has some very violent thoughts about Hydra and the people who work for them. Also not beta'd.
> 
> Also just wanna say that I'm gonna ignore everything that happened after CATWS and just imagine that everything is fine and dandy and everyone lives happily ever it. That's it, that's the end. Canon.

 

 

**"and if i ever see you again, my love."**

           

 

**Lover, Where Do You Live?:** _Highasakite_

**Coward:** _Hayden Calnin_

**Lost Time:** _Léon_

 

- 

            

            With war comes sacrifice. This, Steve Rogers had always known. He had been ready, been prepared, since 1938. He just wanted to do what was right. And that was to join the war effort, to fight, to risk his life, for cushy American freedoms. He couldn’t just sit back and watch, collect metal scraps, as soldiers, as _Bucky_ , fought. So that meant sacrifice. And Steve had been willing to do that. He would sacrifice his mind, body, his _soul_ , for the little guy. For the countries, the _people_ , who needed it. He just didn’t realize that that meant Bucky too.

            In this universe, one man falls off a train.

            And the other crashes a plane into the Arctic.

            Somehow, they still find each other.

             

-

           

            He's lost him two times before, but it's worse this time around. Because Bucky's  _alive_ , here, flesh and bone and blood. He's beautiful and brilliant and solid. But he's not Steve's. (Was he ever Steve's? He's not sure, never has been.)

            But that's not true. Steve remembers the stolen glances, the hard press of Bucky's body against his own as it chattered, the stolen kiss while in action. The way Bucky had looked in that moment, caked in dirt, but with the softest smile. Steve knew he didn't look any better.

            But then Peggy had started to come around more often and everyone had just assumed. Beautiful, intelligent, badass Peggy Carter sweet on a shmuck like Steve Rogers. He would've been lucky to be loved by someone like her, but his eyes, his heart, were already closed. It had and has always been, Bucky for him. Bucky was  _it_. Nobody else could compete.

            He just wished Bucky knew that.

            If there was anything Steve was completely regretful of, it was the knowledge that Bucky had fallen off that train not knowing just how much he loved and treasured him. How he would tear across cities, countries, whole universes, to find him. That the kiss they shared just before the mission to the Alps had been the best moment of his life.

            Peggy Carter was not his girl. She was not tied to any man and she liked it just fine that way. And Steve wasn't in love with her, never had been. Steve just wished he had more time to tell Bucky that. Before it had run out and everything had gotten muddled. Before the Howlies had gabbed and gossiped and the permanent look on Bucky's face had been that of hurt.

            They never seemed to have enough time.

 

-

 

             It had been mostly sacrificial when Steve had crashed Schmidt's plane into the Arctic. Of course, he had done it for the survival of humanity, but another part had ached to be with Bucky. Only in death would that be a possibility. He reckoned he should've been more scared than he was, but the only thing scarier than death was the constant aching of his soul. The guilt, the images of Bucky dying over and over again, blue frost creeping up his throat as he screams and screams and screams. Bucky's fingers just barely within his grasp, yet another failure. Another way in which he's let Bucky down.

            So, he crashed the plane into the ocean, the only picture of Bucky he had left in the pocket of his uniform. And he had let himself die. Sink _down down down_ , until the darkness enveloped and the only thing, _person_ , on his mind was the one who shouldn't have been at all.

 

-

 

           Waking up in the 21st century had been like a kick in the teeth.

 

-

 

            It gets better a couple of years before he meets the Winter Soldier. He likes to think he has friendship in Sam and Natasha. He's reading new literature and listening to new music and the food tastes a hell of a lot better. Most importantly, in this century, he realizes that who he loves, what he is, is okay. Sure, he can't legally marry another man yet, but it beats being killed for it.

            Sure, Steve has no interest in dating anyone, despite Natasha's heckling, but it feels nice to know that others are allowed to be who they are. That they're allowed to love who they love without shame. He wishes he could show this life to his old self. Maybe then, somehow, someway, Bucky wouldn't have died.

 

-

 

            It had been a complete and utter shock when the Winter Soldier's mask had come off. Because there stood Bucky, broad and beautiful and dangerous. It had been a juxtaposition; Bucky's face on someone so horribly inhuman. Someone who used their fists for the exact people they were trying so hard to defeat back in the 40s.

            But Steve can't help himself, nonetheless.

            He _wants and wants and wants._

 

_-_

 

            The moment on the hellicarrier had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. He couldn't fight, couldn't kill, Bucky. But he couldn't let him kill anyone else either. It had hurt, torn his heart to smithereens, such tiny pieces Steve wasn't sure if he could ever put them back together. 

            So, he throws down his shield, vibranium ricocheting loudly, hitting once, twice, before dropping _down down down_ , until it was just a dot in the distance.

            "I'm not going to fight you, Bucky" he cries, but it comes out as a plea, voice halfway near a sob, "I  _love_ you. Please, don't make me do this."

            The Winter Soldier, his Bucky, his best friend, the God damn love of his life, eyes him, before biting out, cold and piercing, "You're my mission!"

            His head ricochets with the punch, right eye purple and swollen shut, tastes blood coppery and rich in his mouth, "Then finish it. Because I'm with you till the end of the line."

            And for just a fine moment, a nanosecond of time, something flashes in the grey-blue of Bucky's eyes, something like recognition. Something like coming home, like hazy Brooklyn summers, the soulful, sweet voice of Billie Holiday on the radio, a look that says, I'm here, I'm home, _with you._

            And then the shoulder of the hellicarrier is breaking and they're falling and everything's black as he sinks.

 

-

 

            Bucky's hard to find afterward. No matter who he calls, who he begs and pleads with, no one is talking. And for that, he's alone.

            The nights get cooler and it only makes Steve feel lonelier. Knowing that Bucky is out there, all by himself in the 21st century, makes the pit in Steve's stomach ache profusely.

            He just wants to find him, bring him home, kill every single person who had laid a finger on him. But no matter how hard he tries; Bucky doesn't want to be found.

            He spends most of his time at the gym, beating and pounding and breaking down. He goes for runs until he's exhausted, until he collapses. He can't go on like this, feels like he can't even breathe. He goes on missions and he kills every left-over Hydra agent, big and small. He's relentless, breaks their necks, beats them bloody, until Sam tells him that it's enough, they're dead Rogers,  _they're gone._

            He spends hours, days, weeks, searching, going over Shield reports, searching for something,  _anything_ , that could give him a clue as to where Bucky is. But his research is futile; Bucky's a ghost. And he's haunting Steve, taunting him with the knowledge that he's alive, he's here on this Earth, in the same revolving universe as Steve is.

            It's maddening, sickening, his stomach hurts with the grief.

            Sam tells him to wait, that Bucky will come when he's ready, but with every day that passes, Steve loses just a little bit of hope. Until it's been months with no sign of Bucky, and he has to come to terms with the deep pit of fear lodged in his chest, that Bucky might never come back.

            Once again he's filled with the deep, crushing feeling that he's run out of time.

            He thinks of being in the trenches, of Bucky's pale face in the moonlight, caked with mud, but beautiful, nonetheless. He thinks of running his hands, new and absurdly large, through thick brown hair, of long lashes fanned across pink stained cheeks. Of the way blue-grey eyes looked into his before he closed the distance between them. A kiss, soft and chaste, tasting of grass and mud, bittersweet in a way that being in war specifically is.

            He thinks of the way Bucky had looked at him when they had pulled away, soft and surprised, but so achingly fond. He thinks of naivety, of dreams where they had both made it out of the war, recluses somewhere far, far away. Where he wasn't Captain America, but Steve Rogers, sweet on his best guy, Bucky Barnes. His true north.

            Bucky had never been naive, not in war and not now. In the moments where they were allowed to be vulnerable, Bucky had told him so. Of how he wasn't disillusioned to the fact that he wouldn't make it out of the war. How he wasn't one of the people who was meant for greatness, who was only meant to kill and to be killed.

            "But you, Steve" he had said, "you're meant for everything. Of anything. You're meant for the whole God damn world."

            Steve hadn't the nerve to tell him that, deep down, the only one he wanted to be meant for was him.

            The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he had left it unsaid. Under the guise that there would be another day, week, year, to tell Bucky.

            Bucky had never been naive and maybe that was why he had closed the distance between them that star-filled night, even with the knowledge that if they had been caught, it might end them both. Maybe he knew that that would be the only chance he got.

 

-

 

            Bucky comes to him, comes home, on the rainiest week of the year. DC is humid and thick with fog, the city rid of its usual kaleidoscope of colors.

            He's sitting in Steve's bedroom, nearly scaring the shit out of him, his fingers brushing across the worn sketchbook that he frequents nights he can't sleep. He can't find his voice, words stuck in his throat, as he looks at the brunet unabashedly. Bucky looks how Steve feels; dark purple circles underneath his eyes, worn out and tired. But he's alive, heart beating soundly in his chest, and for that, Steve is thankful.

            When Bucky looks up, his eyes are guarded, but he's calm, "I'm not going to hurt you."

            Steve's heart pounds relentlessly in his chest, "I know."

            Bucky swallows, averts his eyes, "I almost killed you."

            "That wasn't you, Buck. You gotta know that. I don't blame you, not for this. Not for anything" Steve replies, hoarsely, sadly, but honestly. He's never been so honest in his life.

            Grey- blue eyes the color of a stormy sea meets his own, "But I still did it."

            "No. Hydra did" Steve replies, firmly, anger flicking up his spine. He'll kill them. Every single Hydra agent, will break their necks, make them suffer like they had Bucky suffer for so many years. He won't stop until every inch of Hydra is dead and gone. Won't stop until their blood runs hot and red on his hands. Steve didn't like killing, didn't often aim to do so, but he'll show no mercy. He doesn't enjoy that aspect of the job, of the killing, of the maiming, but he'll do it. He'll do it with a smile on his face.

            It'll be sadistic, a cruelty they've never encountered before. They'll feel the very fear they beat into Bucky over the 70 years they used him as a weapon.

            He never aims to kill, but here's Bucky, standing before him, looking lost and scared and so damn guilty. And for that, Steve wants to watch them burn.

            "I'm not who I used to be, Steve. I don't even  _who_ I am. You call me Bucky and that's my name,  _I know_ , but I'm not your Bucky. I don't know... I don't know if I'll ever be him again. I need to know... I need to know if you'll be okay with that. I don't want to hurt you, not anymore" Bucky says, eyes piercing through Steve. "Tell me to go and I'll go. You'll never have to see me again."

          It's a promise, a vow, the words raw and honest. Panic sings through Steve's skin at the words, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. _No_. No that's definitely not what he wants. He can't lose Bucky, not again. He can't do it. He'll die. He can't let Bucky slip through his fingers. He'll drop his shield a million more times before he lets that happen.

            Steve swallows thickly, eyes glossy with unshed tears, "Buck, I- I don't want you to go," his voice cracks, "I just got you back."

            A thin veil of emotion flashes across Bucky's face, but it's gone before Steve blinks. For a second, Steve closes his eyes and hopes, prays to any God that will listen. Prays that he'll get to keep Bucky in any way he can have him. Cause he can't do this again; he'll shrivel and die. It's not healthy, it's _not_ , but Bucky's his lifeline, his soulmate.

            Even when had nothing, he had Bucky.

            Bucky nods once, twice, before his eyes settle on Steve determinedly, "I'm not worth all this Steve. All this effort. I'm not one of the ones worth saving."

            And, suddenly, Steve's brought to the 1940s, German backwoods, where he and the Howlies had made camp. It had been a hard day, his boys were roughed up, German offense stronger than had been initially expected. They had all made it out alive for which Steve was extremely thankful. The boys had cheered once the day was done and they had managed to make progress, push forward. But Bucky had been pissed, jaw clenched and sharp. He refused to speak to Steve, despite his many attempts to start up a conversation.

            Eventually, the Howlies decided to turn in, one by one, before the only two left had been Bucky and Steve. Bucky had looked at him, skin lit up in firelight and Steve's breath caught in his throat. Bucky had looked brazen and bold and astonishingly beautiful.

            "Buck" Steve whispered, wetting his chapped lips with a slow lap of his tongue. A spark of desire licking up his spine as Bucky followed the movement with dark eyes.

            Time seemed to stand still, eyes connected completely and temptingly with Bucky's. Until he was on his back, the breath knocked out of his chest, searing pain radiating through his jaw.

            "Ow Buck!" Steve cried, holding his aching jaw in big hands. "What was that for?"

            Bucky's face was over his, anger twisting his features, "You! You idiot! You're a complete and utter idiot,  _captain_!"

            Steve straightened his spine, desire curdling low in his belly. The moment was serious, Bucky was pissed, but _God_ , did his dark tone send shivers down his spine.

            "What's your problem, sergeant?" Steve snapped back, relishing in the way it made Bucky even angrier.

            Bucky gripped Steve's shirt in dirty hands, "My problem Steve? My problem is you and your dumb self- sacrificial approach to fighting Nazis! There had been one right there, right in front of me, and you had pushed me out of the way! You could have died!"

            "And so could you! I will _not_ let you die out here, Buck. And I'm not going to apologize for that" Steve hissed back.

            "And what about you, punk? What happens if you die out here? What am I supposed to do then?" His voice was raw as he croaked, "How do you expect me to live without you?

            Steve blinked back harsh tears, watching Bucky's image flicker in the dying light of the fire, "You'd be fine eventually, Buck. You have your family and so many dames waiting for you when you go back. I'll just a blimp in your life."

            Bucky scoffed, "You're dumber than I thought if you actually think that's true."

            Steve bit his lip, "Buck."

            "No,  _you_  listen. There are men out there who are meant to die for this war. Who are meant for one thing and one thing only, and that's to fight the good fight. And there are men out here, men like you Steve, who are meant for greater things, meant to conquer the world. Men like me, we're not the ones worth saving. We can't lose you. Do you understand that? We can't lose you" Bucky reiterated, eyes blazing with fury.

            "That's bullshit Bucky!" Steve roared, then quieter, "it's bullshit if that's all you think you're good for. I can't lose  _you._ I would die a million lifetimes for you. You can't expect me to sit there while you die. I will not do that, I will  _not._ Do you understand that? I would risk everything for you. I'm with you till the end of the line."

            "You're so fucking stupid" Bucky cried, but he wrapped Steve up in his strong, lean arms, face pressed deep in the blond's neck. Steve crushed him to his chest, arms pressed tightly around his friend, pressing his face in thick, brown hair.

            When they pulled away, there had been a moment, though brief, where it had seemed like everything they had felt was vulnerably etched across their faces. Bucky had looked back at him, the blue of his eyes raw with emotion, glossy with tears. And Steve had reached, pressed his rough palms against Bucky's face, gliding a thumb across his stained cheeks.

            And in that moment, time had seemed infinite. That that was exactly where they were supposed to be, right there, in each other's arms,  _home_. It didn't matter if Steve was in London or Paris or Brooklyn itself. Bucky was home.

            And by the look in his eyes, Bucky had known exactly what he was thinking.

            But then Morita had awoken, and the fire had flickered out and the moment was gone. But Steve never forgot. Not then and not now and not ever.

            He's brought back to the moment by an uncomfortable shift in Bucky's stance, his eyes questioning, slightly concerned.

            "You're worth it all, Bucky. I'm with you till the end of the line. That has never changed. It will never change" he reassures him, eyes honest, gentle, in his conviction.

            "Sometimes" Bucky starts, throat thick, "sometimes I think it'd be better if I had just disappeared, left you alone. But I can't. I can't and I don't know why. Nothing makes sense."

            Steve sighs, bites back tears, "It doesn't have to. Make sense, that is. But I don't want you to go.  _Please, Buck_. Please don't go."

            Bucky eyes him, doesn't say anything, but nods. Once, twice, three times.

            It's enough. It has to be.

 

-

 

            There are days when Steve doesn't hear from Bucky at all, days where he paces, waits for him to come out of his room. Days where the silence is deafening, hurts his ears in ways bombs and gunfire and screams did so long ago.

            But he's recovering, or at least that's what Sam tells him. It's normal, for Bucky to spend all day in bed, sleeping, making up for all the time he's lost under Hydra's control. He doesn't even want the old Bucky back. He just wants him to be okay, wants him to stop screaming in terror every night, shouting out words in Russian and Romanian and every other language under the sun.

            It's hard, watching a broken person trying to piece themselves back together, and there are days, weeks, where it seems that there is no end in sight. Bad days where Bucky's screams echo loudly in their apartment, deafening until Steve rushes into his room, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, soothing, calm. Another hand right over Bucky's heart, syncopating, home. Together. 

            But there are good days too, now. Days where Bucky comes out of his room, dark circles partially gone, smiling a tiny Mona Lisa smile, just for Steve. Days where his eyes twinkle in mirth at something Steve's said. Steve has even managed to get a laugh out of him, albeit small, and it had made him smile for weeks afterward.

            Today is a good day.

            Today Bucky's eyes are clear, beautiful, his hair shiny and fresh, face clean shaven and so _so_ pretty. He had cut his hair a couple of weeks ago, said it reminded him too much of being controlled. Said that Hydra didn't care much for grooming, had taken a knife to his hair when it had gotten too long. Once Captain America had come back, Bucky's hair was forgotten.

            Steve had taken one look at him and had nearly fallen to his knees. Standing there, right in front of him, was his Bucky. The Bucky who held him through bouts of pneumonia, who kissed him in dirty German trenches, who had died 70 years ago.

            And before he knew it, Steve had started crying. Apologizing when it turned to full out sobs, his body shaking. And Bucky had- he had entwined his fingers with Steve's. The first point of contact he had initiated himself. It had taken Steve nearly two weeks to fully recover.

            But today, today is good.

            Bucky's smiling and trading thinly veiled insults as jokes with Sam, his hand just mere centimeters from Steve's. He wants to reach out, hold the slender fingers in his own. It’s moments like these when he allows himself to stare, eyes sweeping over every inch of Bucky's face. He's beautiful, Steve has always known that, but he's even more gorgeous today.

            It's happiness, he thinks. Happiness looks good on Bucky. Always has.

 

-

 

            Bucky will never be fixed; Sam had reassured him of that. Bucky will never be the man he was in the 40s, and he’ll never be the Winter Soldier. But he’ll be better, he’ll be okay. And, for Steve, that’s enough. It’s enough to have Bucky here, tangible, flesh and blood and bone. _Alive._

            And with the pressure gone, Bucky starts to remember. Starts to get his mind, the memories Hydra so desperately tried to erase, back. It starts off with little things; like asking Steve if he remembers his ma’s apple pie recipe, or slight tidbits of funny things his sisters used to say or do.

            “I wasn’t going to come back” Bucky confesses on a swelteringly hot day in July. They’re lying side by side in Steve’s queen-sized bed in Brooklyn, looking at the glow in the dark stars haphazardly taped crossed the ceiling. Tony, after many months of deliberation, had forgiven Bucky and offered a place in the compound, but Steve had politely declined. Going back to Brooklyn had always been the endgame for Steve; it, along with Bucky, was home.

            Careful not to startle him, Steve turns his head to meet Bucky’s eyes, startlingly aware of how close they are, “And why didn’t you?”

            Steel blue eyes meet his as Bucky bites his cherry red lips, “I wish I could tell you. Something kept pulling me back here. Back to you.” “I-”, Bucky furrows his brow and opens his mouth, thinking, before shaking his head and smiling a tiny smile at Steve.

            Steve’s curious, but is wary not to push, “You okay?”

            Bucky nods and licks his lips, “Yeah. I’m just trying to make sense of things. It’s like everything’s clear, but-but then things get muddied. Like I’m not getting the bigger picture.”

            Steve nods and tries to suppress the shiver of desire he gets when Bucky pulls on his lip, “Yeah Buck, I know. If you ever need anything, you just tell me, okay? I worry about you.”

            The brunet grins teasingly, “You wouldn’t be Steve Rogers if you didn’t.”

            “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you” Steve blurts, startlingly and brutally honest.

            Bucky’s smile falters, replaced with something soft and gentle. Steve’s suddenly struck with a sense of nostalgia, of how Bucky looked just mere seconds after they had kissed that night in 1944. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Bucky whispers, “but every damn day I’m grateful, Steve.”

            Steve’s eyes go glossy as he intertwines their fingers, “You deserve the world, Bucky Barnes.”

            Bucky snorts a laugh through his tears but stays silent. Steve knows that Bucky still doesn’t believe that he deserves good things, that he still blames himself for the deaths on his hands, but he’s coming around. Slowly, but surely. Steve’s aware of how painfully, unrequitedly in love he is in this moment, a tear sliding down his cheek as if he were a dame from one of the pictures he and Bucky used to sneak into.  

            “Don’t cry” Bucky whispers, thumb softly wiping the tears falling freely on his cheeks.

            “I can’t help it,” Steve cries. “I never thought I’d get to have you again.”

            The brunet cups his face softly and looks into his eyes deeply, “I’m here, Steve. I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t leave you. Not anymore, not ever. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”

            Steve places his hands over Bucky’s and he can’t take it anymore. Bucky’s here and he’s beautiful and he’s looking at Steve so earnestly, so clearly, that the blond just snaps. Slowly, albeit impulsively, he grabs the back of the brunet’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. Soft, unhurried, breathtakingly chaste, before he pulls away.

            Steve opens long lashes to peer at Bucky’s face, slackened in shock, but not angry. There’s a furrow in his brow, but it’s not confused, it’s enlightened, as if he’s figured out the solution to a confusing equation. He’s waiting for any other reaction, for a punch, a pleasant enough rejection, but what he gets sends shivers down his spine. Bucky smiles, real, genuine, crinkles at the edges of his eyes, and pulls Steve to him, lips sliding over his effortlessly.

            Sometimes it didn’t feel real, having Bucky back. He never knew he could have this, have Bucky this way, but it’s brilliantly, beautifully, clear that he’s here, physical, kissable. He’s Steve’s. He’s home. Home by the way his tongue slides over Steve’s, submissive, waiting, answering his call over and over. He’s Steve’s as he allows the blond to push him against the bed, to take and give, home by the way their chests collide passionately. Home by the way he nods, allows himself to be vulnerable when Steve asks if he’s okay, if he wants this, wants him.

            Steve’s by the way he whispers an _I love you_ against sweat-slicked skin.

            Home by the way Steve says it right back.

 

-

 

           “You said you loved me that day. On the hellicarrier” Bucky says a couple of days later, cigarette held almost seductively between his lips.

            Steve takes the cigarette, stopping to thumb at Bucky's bottom lip first, before taking a drag, smoke curling peacefully around his lungs, “Yeah.”

            He says it so simply that Bucky grins, laughing despite himself and takes the cigarette from Steve and stumps it out, “Those things’ll kill you.”

            “Will you too” Steve replies.

            Bucky looks beautiful beside him, skin smooth and shiny, smelling of cedarwood and sex, hair stunningly messy from the way Steve ran his fingers through it just minutes prior. Steve still can’t believe that this man is his, that he gets to love him _again and again and again_. Finally, his forever.

            “Don’t much care for myself, Steve” Bucky scoffs, but his eyes are honest in a way that makes Steve’s stomach hurt.

            Steve bites down the anger crawling up his throat. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, doesn’t want to remember this in a way that makes his stomach clench harshly.

            So, he’s diplomatic when he says, “Well, you better start. You’re mine and I’m not letting you go. Never again.”

            Steel blue eyes narrow, but Bucky seems to relent before he grins cheekily. He does that more now as his brain recovers, as if charm was so deeply rooted into his very existence that not even being the Winter Soldier could erase that.

            He quirks a dark eyebrow, “I’m yours now? Pretty expectant of you, Rogers.”

            And although Steve knows he’s joking, the blond can’t help himself as he lunges at Bucky and pins him down gently (they’ve talked boundaries and Bucky doesn’t like being pinned down too harshly- reminds him of Hydra, of not being in control). “You’re _mine_ , sweetheart. Through and through. Till the end of the line.”

            The brunet chuckles but gasps darkly as he feels Steve pressed hard against him. “Like boyfriends?” he grits out jokingly. Despite the fact that he’s very, _very_ in the mood. That’s one of the reasons why being with Bucky is so beautiful, these little moments laced with humor and desire. Like Steve can be himself in a way that he could never be with anyone else.

            Steve presses kisses across his face and says, “Boyfriends, lovers, soulmates, it doesn’t matter to me, as long as you’re mine forever. You’re it for me Bucky Barnes. Always have been.”

            Bucky stops for a moment and despite Steve’s protests, pulls away from him, “What about Peggy?”

            Steve furrows a brow, but he knows what Bucky is referring to. When the Howlies had assumed that he and Peggy were an item, despite the fact that it was clear, to Steve at least, that he was too busy mooning over Bucky to notice anyone else. He remembers the hurt look on Bucky’s face when after they kissed, just a couple days later Steve was being teased about his and Peggy’s friendship. The way the red lipstick had stained his cheek, even though it was nothing but friendly. Peggy had confessed to him, after nights spent drinking in grief over the loss of Bucky, that she didn’t like sex, didn’t want to be touched. That she was afraid she wouldn’t ever find someone because of it. Asexual, Steve had realized much later in the 21st century.

            He was happy to hear later on, after he came from the ice, that she had found in love in a woman named Angie.

            “She was the one, right? You were in love with her. Came back from her quarters all the time with a dopey smile on your face. And the lipstick! The Howlies never let you live that one down” Bucky sputters, confused.

            Steve chuckles, runs a hand up Bucky’s metal arm until he reaches his shoulder, thumbing softly there, before reaching up to the back of the brunet’s neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. Bucky is frozen for a minute until he relents, body softening as he kisses back.

            Steve pulls away after a few minutes of loving on each other and says, “I was never in love with Peggy Carter. The Howlies just assumed. She was a close friend and that was all. I was too busy being hung up on you to notice her or anyone else for that matter” he confesses.

            Bucky’s face is shocked, almost as if he can’t believe it, “But you-you were always so moony over her!”

            “I’m gay, Buck” Steve says. “I’ve known forever, since I was young. I never wanted to label it, because you know how things were back then. I’ve loved you since we were kids, always held a torch for you. Ma knew too, said it was embarrassing how gone I was for you.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky gasps out.

            “I didn’t want to ruin anything, Buck. You were my best friend. You took care of me, offered up your home to me. I didn’t want to put this on your shoulders, especially not when you were about to go off to war. You deserved better than skinny, sick Steve Rogers” Steve replies, cheeks reddening.

            The brunet’s eyes go misty, “You’re such a punk. God Steve, I’ve been in love with you since I was 15. I thought you might’ve gotten the hint after I kissed you in Germany. But then Peggy’s lipstick was on your cheek and I thought- I thought you didn’t want me.”

            Steve sputters and wraps his arms around Bucky tightly, “God, you jerk, we’ve been so dumb.”

            Bucky holds him back just as tight, “I love you, you punk.”

            “I love you too, Buck. One of my biggest regrets, besides not seeing you get home, was having you fall off the train and not knowing how incredibly in love with you I was. I just- we didn’t have enough _time_ ” Steve cries.

            Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t care that I didn’t get to go home, that they juiced me up with some knockoff serum, that Hydra used me as an experiment. Because it all led me back to you. We have all the time in the world now, Steve. And that’s all that matters.”

            And with that, Steve pulls him into his arms, intending to love on his best guy. Bucky was right of course; they did have all the time in the world. They were soulmates and even after this life, they would have each other again and again. Steve and Bucky were infinite.

            Of course, Bucky was still recovering, he probably always would be. And he had more things to learn, like allowing himself to be selfish and forgiving his past. But with Steve by his side, helping, holding him on his bad days, Bucky knew he could get through anything. They would always have each other, till the end of the line.

            And that was all that mattered.

           

           

           

 

 


End file.
